In His Arms
by Flailing-Zombie
Summary: Andrew gets hurt while patrolling with his Slayer /i was having a bad day, and i took it out on poor Andrew. this is just sad for the sake of being sad./


It didn't hurt.

At least, not like he thought it would.

He had been expecting burning, stinging, a deep down tearing feeling.

He had prepared himself to stifle a scream.

But really, it was more a numbing pressure.

Just another thing he was wrong about, apparently.

As he stared down at the gaping wound he let out a laugh that sounded so far away it startled him.

Was it someone else?

He lifted his head to look around, near expecting to see the form of some unknown person laughing at him.

Wouldn't be the first time.

His head felt so heavy. Too tired. 'Why am i so tired? Oh. Right.'

Again he focused on the bright red trails leaving his forearm, pooling around him on the tiles, a beautiful contrast of crimson on white.

There's that laugh again.

Too tired to see where it came from this time.

He closed his eyes for just a moment. Just... Needed to think.

Why was he here again? Right.

After years of training and fighting to prove he was a useful person, a strong person, an independent, confident, capable watcher person, he was finally given the chance to really work as a full watcher, with his own slayer and everything.

He knew his life would finally change.

He just knew he'd finally have the successful, happy life he had dreamed about for so long.

Woops. Wrong again.

He felt himself slowly sliding down the wall he had pulled himself against, his own blood making the floor too slick for his weak legs to find purchase and stop him.

Now nearly on his back he looked up at the sky through the hole he had fallen through, well, been thrown through, really.

With a small amount of strength he turned his head to glance at the debris of his trip through the roof of the small, partially buried church he and his Slayer had discovered while on patrol that night.

After she dusted the vamp they should have just left.

They shouldn't have decided to investigate the ruins.

Might not have been caught off guard if he hadn't been making another Indiana Jones archaeological reference.

But, it was him. He couldn't resist making his geekery known to any and all who could hear him, including whoever or whatever had picked him up like a tiny doll and dropped him through the rotting roof.

He wouldn't have broken so many bones, wouldn't be looking at the stub of his wrist pouring his life onto the surprisingly clean for a long abandoned church floor.

Certainly shouldn't have ever had to think "I wonder where my hand ended up"

Seriously, who's laughing?

His vision was growing fuzzy as he looked around the room that would serve as a coffin of sorts, at least until someone decided to try to find him.

Of course in his head all he heard was "if" anyone came looking for him. "If" anyone missed him enough.

Sure, he had made friends with the Scoobies over the years, there were still barbs at him about his quirks, but without the painful sting they used to bear, now more a gentle ribbing, but he never really felt he belonged with them.

So, this was ok. They'd move on, find a replacement watcher, everything would be fine.

He tried to shake his head as he thought he heard someone call his name.

'You're all about the hearing things tonight, huh?'

He decided to ignore the laughter at this point.

Again he heard his name, this time accompanied by a soft fuzzy sensation on his leg.

With what he was sure was far too much effort he shifted his gaze toward the fuzzy feeling and was sure he saw someone.

Squinting his eyes he confirmed that yes, someone was there, touching his leg.

He tried to look at the out of focus person's hand, but that required a strength that he just didn't have.

He just needs to close his eyes for a minute, needs to refocus.

That was when he realised the laughter was actually coming from himself.

What was funny?

Right. Of course.

He had survived years of running from vamps, a few apocalypses. Apocalypsees? Apocalypsi? They really needed to invent a word for that.

And here he was, taken down by a building.

A church no one even knew existed.

He tried to work out why exactly it was so funny, but he couldn't seem to think.

He suddenly felt all floaty.

The fuzzy leg feeling had moved to his back, and he remembered the broken ribs from the fall.

At least they didn't hurt.

Now cold. Intense, near burning cold.

He opened his eyes again and was caught a bit off guard by the blurry but recognizable sight of the reason he was floating.

"Hi Xander." He knew it was barely more than a gurgly whisper but he was acknowledged by the prettiest brown eyes he had ever seen. Well, eye and eyepatch.

"Andrew. just hang on, we're getting you out of here." Strong, worried arms held him just tight enough as they were both lifted out of the building by what he could only assume was other Slayers.

Huh. She went for help. He'd have to remember to thank her later.

He tried to say words of thanks, or make a bad joke about Xander being his hero, but all he could do was close his eyes again and go limp, feeling too tired to fight it anymore.

At least if he had to go, he was finally where he always wanted to be.

In the strong arms that wouldn't let him go, not even when his own body did.


End file.
